


running stitch

by manhattan



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character Study, Comfort, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Lissa is Bad at Sewing, Stahl is Good at Comforting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:20:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: “Stahl, do you know how to sew?”





	running stitch

**Author's Note:**

> one second i was musing about how i should write more gen fics; the next, this fic sprung fully-formed from my word document. conclusion: i should write more fire emblem fics, and also these two are very cute, and i love them both.

The armory tent’s flap was pinned up, lulling in the setting sun like a bloodied flag. Stahl bent under the end of the fabric as he entered, but it tickled his neck anyway, and he had to stifle a laugh.

“Oh,” Lissa said, looking up from her lap. Her eyes were very wide, that gray ring thin like a drying creek.

At the thought that he’d surprised her, Stahl curved his back in a semblance of an apologetic bow. Briefly, he wondered if this was what Kellam felt like upon being noticed, and a wave of amusement washed over him.

“Apologies, milady,” said Stahl, before he could think better of it, and Lissa’s surprise sharpened into a crinkled, frowny pout. “Lissa,” he corrected, before she could do it for him.

It was rare that he slipped and mentioned her station, nowadays, but proper etiquette towards nobility had been drilled into him since he’d become a squire, and the necessity to use it hadn’t faded with his knighthood.

The very first time he had called her by her title, Lissa’s face had twisted exactly as it had done now. Her voice had been stern as she ordered him to call her by her name, her first name, and it was the only order she had ever given him. And the only one she continued to give.

“Mm,” Lissa groaned, half-miffed and half-pleased, and folded her arms over the waves of butchered fabric in her lap. “It’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to drop by. Isn’t it kind of late to, um, to hang around?”

The sun was a sliver of red and gold in the distance, and Lissa had already lit the lamps in preparation, but dinner had yet to be served. And though the troops turned in relatively early, as battling exhausted even the hardiest of men, the end of the afternoon could hardly be considered _late_.

Stahl raised one inquisitive eyebrow at Lissa, who immediately blushed and leant even more over the fabrics in her lap. The movement caught his eye; the whirlpool of fabric, upon further and cautious inspection, revealed worn shirts and torn socks.

“I meant – I just wasn’t – don’t you usually come around in the mornings?” Her voice was accusative, then, as the color of her features darkened.

Stahl curbed the urge to apologize, even as it struck him squarely across the face. He looked away instead, willing himself to move and be done with his blade as quick as humanly possible. Furthermore, he dutifully ignored the curious voice at the back of his head as it asked why Lissa knew his schedule in the first place.

“I do,” he admitted, as he began to move towards the chest where the supplies were kept. It was clear Lissa was feeling embarrassed, and, as he had no desire to further that emotion in her, he turned away to browse. “But Sully required a sparring partner, so I … well, I postponed my equipment’s maintenance. Sully can be quite, erm, convincing, after all.”

A bubbling giggle emerged from behind him, but, as soon as it had started, was quickly dried out again. Stahl’s insides winced in trepidation; a stern and stoic Lissa was a sign that something was wrong.

“Oh,” Lissa murmured, further proving his point. Her voice was almost lost amidst the sound of furiously shuffling linens and wools.

The hasty motion flickered the candles’ fires, and, for a moment, Stahl thought the lamps would go out. They held fast, though, and soon the tent was awash in warm light once more. Once he could see again, Stahl found the whetstone atop the rags he used to polish his sword, and set out to unearth the mineral oil.

As he searched, he wondered if the grating sound of the whetstone would be a nuisance to Lissa, and that perhaps it would be best if he maintained his sword somewhere else. Perhaps a nearby clearing, so as to not bother anyone with the noise?

His chain of thought broke under the weight of Lissa's great sigh, accompanied by a long creak of her chair. Stahl looked over his shoulder as he rose to his feet, holding his supplies, and found her leaning back. Her arms were raised over her head as she stared at the dust-flecked ceiling of the tent.

“Stahl, do you know how to sew?”

He blinked.

“If the occasion calls for it, I suppose,” Stahl offered slowly, unsure where this subject had come from and where it would go. “Guardsmen mend their own socks, you know,” he added, offering a smile and hoping she would give one back.

Lissa went on staring at the ceiling, mouth pinched to one side.

“ _I_ never had to mend anything,” she proclaimed, and sat straight; glared daggers at the pile of clothing in her lap. The statement was anything but a boast. “But still, I figured it wouldn’t be so hard, you know? Well, I was wrong,” she sighed once more, and gave him a flat look. “It _is_ hard, and I’m no good at it, and I think I’ve sewn one of Chrom’s sleeves shut.”

“What? _Why?”_ Stahl asked, baffled.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” Lissa replied sharply, coloring again.

“No, I meant—sorry—” he backtracked, trying not to smile, “I meant, did Chrom ask you to mend his clothes? That doesn’t seem like him.”

“Oh, um,” she stammered, dropping her gaze to something that looked suspiciously like her brother’s recently-mangled vest. “I guess I – I just wanted to help out, somehow. The clothes were starting to pile, and I was just sitting here doing _nothing_ , so.”

“I see,” Stahl murmured.

And he did, which was why he placed his supplies aside and sat in the chair closest to hers. His sword could wait until the following morning, as long as Sully did not request his presence again; Lissa, in the current moment, in her current mood, could not.

“Let me help you, then,” he said, and began to approach her.

Lissa frowned again, however, and her eyes were very bright. Stahl blinked as warmth pooled at the nape of his neck, feeling once more as though he had something to apologize for.

“That’s the – ugh! That’s the point, Stahl!”

“What is?” he asked, terrified without really knowing why.

“The point is that _I_ want to help,” she groaned, leaning back again and covering her face with her hands. “The point of all of this is so I can make myself useful, but here you are, helping _me_ , because apparently I can’t even tell a sleeve and a tear apart!”

Stahl took her in, from the flushed skin left uncovered by her hands to the sharp noises as she inhaled. Stahl took her in and considered his words carefully, the same way he did the weight of a javelin or the balance of a sword.

Finally, he set one hand on her arm, emboldened by his desire to calm her, and peeled one hand away from her face, set it on the clothing pile. The fabric of her dress was cool to the touch, the satin soft and chill. Just how long had she been sitting here?

“Lissa,” he said, and smiled at her, “I find that wanting to help matters just as much as knowing how to. That said,” he added, glancing down at the blue vest and wincing apologetically, “you should apply your altruism in an area you’re more, um … _comfortable_ with.”

She sighed again, looking sad and small under all those clothes. Before he could think, Stahl reached in and stole half of the load, bringing it into his own lap.

“How about this?” he asked, and reached again, this time for the sewing kit beside Lissa. “I’ll help, just this once, and you can see how I do it. It’s the same way I learned, back at the castle.” Then he fell into himself, realizing how smug he must sound, and the heat on his neck breached the rest of his face. “I mean – that is, I’m not – I’m not as good as Cordelia—“

But Lissa was smiling, now, handing him a pair of scissors. Her eyes were soft.

“Just this once, then,” she said, prettily happy as she ought to always be. All that fluster abandoned him as he smiled back, closing his fingers around the metal.

“Just this once,” Stahl promised, as he began to cut the sloppy stitch on the vest’s closed sleeve.

“But, well, if I don’t get the hang of it right away,” she added in a confidant’s whisper, a tone as sweet as her grin, “I suppose there would be no harm in learning it again.”

“I suppose not,” he said, and grinned back, leaning closer to show her.


End file.
